One Hundered And One Peices
by Sayain Girl
Summary: “Do you normally mess around with strange guys like that?” I demand, a sour look on my face. “Well, no,” he admits with a sheepish smile before grinning. “But I thought I’d try with you.”. Pairing: Mainly SasuNaru, hints of: NaruxOC & SasukexOC. Two-Shot.
1. The Meeting

**Opening A/N**: In this story, I tried to do something out of my usual writing style. If you've read any of my stories before, you might pick-up on the differences. I hope it came out as good as I hoped it too! Please, **R**_**&**_**R**_**!**_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Naruto. I do not want to own Naruto. I do not own Naruto. I do not want to own Naruto. -turns to therapist- It isnt working - I still want Naruto!

* * *

**So & So's Party**

* * *

I glared accusingly at my glass of water.

It's doing a poor job of relieving the oppressive heat of the fifty plus people packed together that is slamming into me. I move my glare to the said pack of people, that's when I saw him.

He stands out of the crowd, his gaze is intent, searching—for what? I know what kind of impression I am giving off, sitting in this corner by myself, keeping as much distance as possible between myself and the mass who are busy getting smashed, and making fools of themselves.

He's one of those fools. I've seen him a few times now: dancing haphazardly, leaning against a far off wall, smiling down at a girl who is just as intoxicated as he is. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he was obviously enjoying himself at this party. I have better things to do with my time here, like sitting by myself, counting down the minutes until this, _whatever_ it was, was over.

'_Why is he looking at me?_' I frown, knowing that there was nothing wrong with my appearance outwardly. I stair more intensely at him, trying to see his angle. I can't help but notice that his eyes are clear, and focused, more sober than I would have thought possible after all the drinks he had undoubtedly put down. I refuse to look away, pride rendering me unable to do anything else; I glare, meeting his gaze squarely. Defiant.

What are you looking at_?_ I silently challenge.

His next move surprises me; a grin is all he gives me as his answer to my challenge.

It says clearly, You. I'm looking at you. And with that he saunters off, melting back into the crowd.

**

* * *

**

Party Bathroom

* * *

Later, he corners me on my way out of the bathroom. Pressing me up against the wall, so invasive of my personal space that I can feel his heart as it thumps against my chest. The action catching me so unaware that I can only blink in surprise. Before it caught up with me, my mind idly wondered at the fact his head fit almost perfectly under my chin.

"Your' a tall bastard, aren't ya?" He says to me, laughter in his tone as he slips a hand underneath my shirt, rubbing his fingertips against the crevices between my ab's. His hands travel upwards, I hear him laugh again at my intake of breath as his fingertips graze the tops of my nipples.

"Stop," I order at the blonde, gritting my teeth as he once again brushes my nipples. I growl.

He pouts, but lets his hand fall out of my shirt, finding a resting place at the waistband of my jeans. "Why?"

I give him a look of disbelief "Because, this is—"

"Fun?" He interrupts, his hands tugging at my waistband, fingers slipping underneath the material.

"Hn." I shove the other away forcefully; I can tell I've caught him unaware by the action, if his head colliding against the opposite wall with a painful thwack was any indication.

"Oi, bastard!" He mutters, glaring at me as if he wasn't just molesting me. "What was that for?"

"For touching me like that." I answer bluntly, hoping that it would somehow seep through that seemingly hard head of his before adding, "I don't even know who the hell you are."

He mutters something else under his breath before saying aloud, "Relax, I was just messing around."

"Do you normally mess around with other guys like that?" I demand, a sour look on my face.

"Well, no," he admits with a sheepish smile before grinning. "But I thought I'd try with you."

"Why?" The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

He pretends to make a big show of thinking about the question. "Well…you're pretty hot." I interrupt him with a snort before he continue's. "Kinda like a girl, actually…" He takes a step forward, pride wouldn't let me step back, even if I wasn't already flattened against the wall.

I'm trapped. Perfect.

I glare harder, the move apparently encouraging him on, "You have really nice hair—soft, and silky." Gently, and before I could stop him, he threads one of his hands through my hair; the tips brushing against my scalp. "Captivating eyes—" He bends his neck; settling his hot mouth on my throat. I barley manage to contain the shiver that courses though me at the contact. I apparently didn't do a very good job as I can feel the curve of his lips as he smiles into my neck. "And such smooth," he continues in a whisper, fingers ghosting up my neck to tangle in my hair, "pale skin."

I can't stop the hitch in my breath. The tension building up inside of me as he continues his ministrations. He never pauses in his exploration of the contours of my body with his sinfully skillful hands. A groan escapes from me when his tongue comes out to play, flicking determinedly across the skin at the base of my throat.

At first, he is gentle. But that is soon over as he applies pressure to his exploring hands, mouth roaming more fervently around my neck, and throat; I tense up as his teeth find my pulse.

"Relax," he murmurs against my now sensitive flesh, soothing the spot with his tongue.

I remain tense though, breathing shallowly while he continues to imbue my neck with his markings. I'm not even sure what's going on anymore: his hands seem to be everywhere, and nowhere all at once, feather-light touches that burn my skin. There's a sort of haze that's clouding my mind, and it makes it hard for me to tell if that's my hand, clutching in his hair, urging him on. I can't tell if that's me, making those noises—shallow gasps, so unlike myself that I wonder if it's me at all, or another person in my body. Maybe it's just another me that he's managed to call fourth. I don't know, I can't tell. And then his tongue slides between my parted lips, and his taste's like alcohol, and…ramen?

I don't stop him this time, when his fingers curl around my waistband.

* * *

By the time the haze faded away, he was gone, and I was by myself once more.

I looked around for him, but he had left already.

I was standing in a dark corner alone, back where I started.

The next morning the bite marks stood out angrily against my skin. I winced at my image in the mirror, closing my eyes to try, and shake it. His face floats up behind my eyelids instead. I try, and think of something else. It doesn't work. I even hear his voice, almost. I shake my head violently. I didn't even know his name…

No, no, no. I don't want to think about him. I don't. It was nothing.

That night, I dreamt of him.

* * *

It's strange, but I've never noticed him at school before.

Of course, it might be because of the sheer size—there are so many people, and he was just one of the mass. Other then the scars on his cheeks, and glaring blonde hair, he has no distinguishing qualities in this interracial school; no awards, no scholarly recognition. Apparently, he's an athlete. I don't remember ever hearing his name being announced for victories or games, but then again, I never listened.

No, he wasn't remarkable in any of those ways. And yet—I found myself in disbelief at the fact I have never noticed him before. He was so enmeshed in my thoughts, in me, it's hard to think of a time when he was just a nameless face in the crowd.

_Naruto Uzumaki…_

How can you creep into my psyche after only one night? How can you take over it so thoroughly when I can barely remember what happened? Everything is blurred to me; the only thing I can bring to my mind is his touch, his breath hot against my skin.

A note. _The_ note falls to the floor when I next open my locker. I pick it up, scanning the cramped, messy writing that I can only describe as chicken scratch. My heart, and mind race as I read it. I crumple up the piece of paper, throwing it away.

The rest of the day is a blurry daze, as I enter class-to-class in my everyday routine, I keep debating with myself: should I go, or not? The words, the written invitation, seemed to have been burned into my eyelids, for when I close my eye's, all I can see is the arraignment of letters. _Meet me in the parking lot after school_.

Should I go to him?

* * *

I go completely rigid when I feel his hands wrap around my waist from behind. It's been almost a week since the party by now, and we're alone, the only occupants in the parking lot after school.

"Guess who?" He whispers, I can almost taste his smirk.

"I know who you are." I say curtly, "Now let me go."

"Come to my car."

"_Your_ car? No way."

"What, you've never made out in the back of a car before? It's fun."

"You think everything is fun—"

"Most things are, if you know how to enjoy them." He began to nibble at the sensitive spot beneath my ear. "C'mon," the blonde whispered breathily in my ear, perfectly aware of the shiver it causes to go down my spine, "You know ya wanna."

And somehow, someway twisted, and demented way, I find myself cramped in the backseat of his car. He makes quick work of the buttons on my pants; my heavy breathing becomes hard to conceal, he smirks, but this time I notice something: this is affecting him as much as it is me. His breathing is labored, as shallow, and ragged, as mine would be if pride weren't in the way. Using this little fact, I reach up, pulling his face down to meet my lips. They clash together in a clumsy kiss, his teeth biting my lip hard enough to draw a line of blood. His tongue enters my mouth, eager, and demanding in its exploration of the new playground I had just exposed it to.

I press my hand against the crotch of his pants.

He drew in a sharp breath at the contact, breaking the kiss to mutter, "Fucking hell," He yanks my jeans off completely, throwing them to the side, leaving them to crumple into a heap on the middle consol, the action making me feel as if I were completely naked.

The way his eyes rake over my body isn't helping.

He bends down to capture my mouth in another rough, sloppy kiss, I know where this is going, and I don't protest, or try to stop him.

I want it.

* * *

"Stop it," I grumble. I push him away, but he just continues to kiss me. His lips traveling over every inch of my exposed skin, teasing me as he nibbles with his teeth, or caresses with only the tip of his tongue. "Stop," I repeat, force in my voice this time. He finally listens.

Opting to settle his head in the crook of my neck. I almost smile at the still perfect fit, "You never want to cuddle," he complains, I can hear the pout on his lips as if I were facing him.

"Cuddling?" I scoff, "That's not cuddling, that's slobbering." I point out.

"Well then, I guess you like slobbering."

I'm torn between growling and sighing exasperatedly. I chose the latter, "No. I don't." I say incredulously.

"But I do," He whine's. "It's good to cuddle after sex."

"It's irritating." His overall cuteness wearing me down, not that I'd ever tell him that, "especially when I'm trying to sleep."

"Please, you don't sleep afterwards. You're always too excited."

I cough. Even after a month, I get flustered at the mention of sex. I still have trouble connecting the me who shudders beneath his every touch to the me I have always known: the one who keeps to himself, keeps tight control over his actions, and is well aware of his temper. The person I always thought I was, before he came along of course. Somehow, he has a way of bringing out different sides of me.

He, too, has different sides.

He is flirtatious, and teasing; he is gentle, and yet fierce; he is brash, and cruel; and yet he is sensitive, and caring. His is so many things, so many different things. The one thing about him that I am sure of is that he is the wind—fickle, ever-changing, always blowing away, always moving.

I don't understand Naruto Uzumaki, I can't.

I only know his touch, his laughter; the one hundred, and one pieces that make up the mosaic of who he is. But I can never see the whole picture. All I have are the fragments I can grasp at, while he…he has my heart.

He has my heart. He fills in the missing spaces in me. He doesn't stop the ache they caused; if anything, he makes it worse. Still, I stay. I hang around him because I know that for all the pain he brings, the emptiness that he would leave behind would gnaw at me ten times as much.

'_I love you. Do you even care?'_

* * *

The first time I see it, I am angry.

"How could you?" I shout, unable, and unwilling to hold myself back as we stand in his room. Vaguely, I am relieved that his foster father, Iruka isn't at home to hear me. "Why...?" The images come swirling back to me. They are crystal clear: Naruto with that girl, him pressed up against her, him kissing her, touching her. Pleasuring her.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It just—kind of happened."

"Obviously," I spit out. "Everybody at school saw it…_happen_."

"Look, I said I'm sorry! What more do you want?" When I remain silent, he demands again, the words cutting through me like ice, "What? It's not like we're going out, or anything."

There is no answer I can give to that. It's true. We're not dating. We're not together. We never talked about any of those things. I was willing enough to just let it be. Let it be only the two of us, nothing more. Apparently, he thought differently.

"Forget it," I say finally. "Just…forget it." I turn towards the door, and begin to walk away.

"Hey—hey! Where are you going?"

"Away. Leave me alone."

He grabs the sleeve of my jacket. "No. Stay."

"Let go of me."

"Come on," He coaxes, moving closer to slip his arms around my waist. "Stay with me. I'm sorry."

"Sorry means nothing!" I yell before I can stop myself, shaking your arms off roughly. "_Sorry_ doesn't erase what you did. _Sorry_ doesn't fix anything."

"What more do you want?" he whispered pathetically.

"I want—" I bite my tongue. _'I want us to be together. I want you to stay with me. I want to keep you by my side. I want you to need me as much as I need you.'_ "Nothing," I finish. "I don't want anything."

"You want me—right?" he asks quietly, and if I didn't know him any better, I'd say hesitantly.

"No."

"Yes. You do." I hate the certainty in his voice, the sureness of his arms as he pulls me into another hug. "You want me…and you can have me."

"No I can't."

"Why not?" he pouts.

"Because…how long will it be before this happens again? Can you promise me that you'll only be with me, and nobody else?" He remains silent. "Of course not," I continue. "So don't bother telling me that I can have you. And don't you dare tell me again that you're sorry, because you aren't." I spit with anger, hurt surging through me, "Just…don't say anything."

* * *

It almost doesn't surprise me when I see him with another girl.

Or is she the same one? I can't tell. Its not like it matters anyways. I know now that even those fragments of him I thought I had meant nothing. They will never amount to anything, to him. They are only a few of the many puzzle pieces that he is made of. If I want to see the whole picture, I have to fit them all together.

But doing that entails too much headache, too much caring, and I don't want either of those things.

* * *

**~tbc~**

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Phew, chapter one is _Dee-O-N-Eeee!_

Want chapter two? Then _**REVIEW**_!

**Closing A/N**: As you've probably noticed, Sasuke's been a little bit on the Uke side. Im making him a bad ass one though! I usually hate anything to do with Sasuke not being the dominant one, but at the request of a dear friend of mine, im trying this one out.


	2. The Realization

**Starting A/N: **As I said in the first chappy, this story is made in a completely different context then I have written all of my other stories. Not only are the roles of each boy completely reversed, the writing format is slightly different. Good, but different. I kinda like making Naruto the asshole, haha, but I think this might be the last story I made like this. And though it's different, the characters aren't horribly ooc.

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Anyways, **enjoy** & _review_!

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**Disclaimer:** Naruto isn't mine... Unfortunately dreams like that rarely – if ever, come true.

* * *

**After School**

* * *

He offered to drive me home. His hair was rumpled, and his shirt was sloppily buttoned. The collar failing horribly to conceal the angry red marks pasted on his neck. I count several long scratches along his arms.

"I don't have nails that long," I say, almost conversationally while getting in the car.

"No, you don't," He agrees. "But I think you would look damn good with them."

"Hell no."

"Maybe I should grow out my nails then? My hair, too."

I look at his hair; it's spiked today, like it always it, I catch myself idly wondering if he's ever taken a comb to it a day in his life, "You shouldn't. It'd look hideous on you."

"Why don't you do it then? I've told you before, long hair looks good on you."

"Because it makes me look like a girl,"

'_And I don't ever want to look like Itachi,_' I add silently in my head. I don't even bother to disguise the acidity in my voice, and he doesn't have the decency to look ashamed.

"Trust me," He says with amusement, "I'm well aware of the fact that you're a boy. And I happen to like that."

"You also happen to like breasts and—"

"Girls," The blonde interrupts smoothly. "Yes. I happen to like girls, too. Why not? Why restrict yourself to one gender when you can be flexible and have twice the fun?"

"It's always about fun with you." I state dryly.

"We can't all be serious and intense like you. Then life would be boring."

"Stop the car. I'm getting out."

"I won't, and you're not going to."

"Stop the car, Usuratonkachi."

"You're pissed off," he begins, with that grin I've seen so many times before. It's still half innocent, but now the only way I can describe the other half is as predatory.

I try to sound angry, even while my eyes are fixated on his mouth, parted and pink-lipped. "Well aren't you smart. Here's a fucking cookie, now stop the car and let me get out."

"I think you should stay and work this anger out," he suggests blandly, as if he wasn't implying anything more innocuous than a talk, a heart-to-heart.

"Where, in the back of your car?" I ask sarcastically.

"You've read my mind." And with that he pulls into the vacant area behind an old, abandoned 7-Eleven. The place is familiar to me, although I never get to see much of it; he's always so eager, already fumbling at my belt before he's even parked the car properly. After the first few minutes, I'm too absorbed to pay attention to anything except his hands and mouth.

He reaches over, inching his way up my thigh, stroking, caressing, in a deliberately slow manor: enjoying my mounting impatience. It only takes a few minutes, and then I find that we have somehow managed to crawl and tumble into the backseat. Today I find myself straddling him, unbuttoning his shirt; it's probably the second time today that he's had it torn open by eager hands, but I'm enjoying my new vantage point too much to really care.

"This is new," His words are airy, but his fingers shake as they tangle into my hair, giving him away. "I can't say I'm not enjoying it, though." He keeps on talking, chattering into my ear. I can't distinguish the words, and it doesn't matter. I position my knee between his legs; he lets in a sharp breathe, the words trailing away into a moan.

I shove my knee upwards, he whispers my name.

Gently, I trace the scratches on his arm. Trailing downward until I reach the tips of his fingers. I then move my teasing attentions to the ones that cross his chest, and all the while he is muttering, urgent and feverish now, no longer trying to disguise the tremble in his voice. I have never seen him so open, so vulnerable. It's new, exciting; I want to explore this side of Naruto, want to see how he would respond if I touched him like this, or right here. Every gasp, and moan of my name—it intoxicates me.

Is this how he felt, all those times?

As I bend over him, some of his words catch my ear. "Fuck me," he whispers. "Please—god, please. Fuck me."

'_God, hm? I could get used to that._' I haul him onto his knees, answering his moans. It's an uncomfortable and cramped position, but I see his smile; I can still feel it, even as I push into you too soon, too fast. I can feel it even as he bites his lips harshly against the pain, bucking his hips to urge me on.

* * *

**Locker Room**

* * *

I'm not sure how long it's been going on, but it must have been a while, because the sense of being watched is familiar. I've felt it before; only I always brushed it off, attributing it to paranoia. Ever since I've begun this thing with Naruto, it always feels like he's just over my shoulder, following my every movement with his gaze, waiting for me to turn around so he can smile that smile, press that body against mine, close enough to feel my heart beat against his chest, and whisper, "I bet you were thinking about me, weren'cha?"

Today I feel those eyes on me again as I'm changing in the boys' locker room. Sixth period sparing is over, and all the other boys have already left; the room echoes the sound of my locker as I slam it shut, whipping around, ready to berate him for spying on me.

But it isn't Naruto.

It isn't his blue eyes I meet, it isn't his smirk I see, it isn't Naruto's voice I hear say, "Hey," and it certainly isn't his hands pushing me against the once open locker.

It's some boy from my class, the kind of boy who I would have expected to be gone with his friends by now, laughing and flirting with girls. But instead he's here, pinning me against the lockers, and the only thing I can remember about him is something Naruto once said: "That idiot. He's always talking about queers and fags, but you know he probably jacks off while thinking about you." I don't know why he assumed that he was gay, let alone that he liked me. Although I am starting to get a good idea, especially now that he's busy applying his mouth to my neck.

I realize that my shirt is still clutched in my hand. I wasn't expecting to keep it on long, but it wasn't Naruto's tanned hands that I had imagined that were going to be on my skin, it was this other boy's. The cold metal of the lockers bites into my back; I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, leave me alone. What comes out instead is a groan.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" I demand.

"Fucking you," he replies, matter-of-factly, before pulling my jeans down.

"Hn, that's what you think." But even the conviction I once felt is gone. I should tell him to stop. But I can't seem to make my voice work, and somehow it doesn't matter.

* * *

**Naruto's House**

* * *

Naruto's eyes are cool when he sees the bruises he didn't leave, the swollen lips he didn't kiss, his grip is iron as he pins my hands against the wooden edge of the kitchen table. My wrists ache from the pressure.

He doesn't care.

"How was it?" He asks, calm and even, as if were talking about a stroll in the park, and not fucking another guy.

"Good," I reply, meeting his gaze squarely. "It was fun."

"I'm glad," he says, not wasting any more time on the subject as he leans, tugging off my shirt.

"What if your parents come home?" I try to keep my voice steady. Surprisingly, it is.

"Then we'll go to my room," He smirks. "But whether they do or don't…" He presses his fingers against one of my bruises, hard enough to make me want to wince, "We're going to finish this."

"Let's go to your room then."

"Why?"

"Because this is uncomfortable." I deadpan, "It's a goddamn kitchen table."

"I don't know, you seem to like being fucked in uncomfortable places. The back of my car, for example."

"That was your idea, idiot."

"It wasn't my idea for you to let that jackass screw you in front of the lockers."

"How did you—"?

"So it was him. You were late coming from sixth period and—" He gazes almost dispassionately at the marks he left, "I just put two, and two together."

"Does it matter who it was?"

"Not at all," and with that he turns me around, pressing me against the table.

It's rough, painful; his hands leave new bruises and press into old ones, his teeth rake my skin. Sometimes I cry out, and every time he asks, "Do you want me to stop?"

And I always reply the same, "No." Somehow you hear the want in my voice, knowing exactly what speed I want you to fuck me.

Naruto whispers into my ear, words that expel against my skin as hot gusts of breath, fragments that speak of heat, want, and need, until I come with his name spilling from my lips.

When it is over, I collapse against the table, his forehead leaning against my back.

"God," He rasps, too drained to say anything else.

Only the sound of his parents coming home rouses us, and we both work hurriedly, cleaning up our mess. I feel like a naughty child covering up a broken glass or plate, but we manage to look respectable by the time his parents walk in. He lies, telling them that you and I are going out on a double date, and drag me hurriedly to the car.

We drive to the abandoned 7-Eleven, and for once I don't think about what will happen next. I don't think about which girl I'll see him with tomorrow, or which boy, or about anything except his voice next to me in the darkness, the weight of his arm across my chest, the rise and fall of his breath. I don't think at all. It's enough to just be, here, in this moment with him.

* * *

**Locker Room**

* * *

The next time I see him, I'm not surprised. I let him tug my sweat-stained shirt off, let him curl his fingers around the elastic waistband of my shorts. But it's not his name I say, its Naruto's; it escapes from me, unbidden at first. I keep repeating it, over and over in short gasps as I thrust harder, and faster inside of him. Still, I say Naruto's name.

Sometimes I say his name; whisper it as I trail my hands down his stomach, under his boxers, and watch his eyes widen, his cheeks flush a shade of pink that makes me lean in and kiss him. His lips always part eagerly, inviting me in. He always says my name, soft and airy.

Naruto never says anything about it when I come out of the locker room late, and I never offer an explanation.

Afterwards, he always sits on the bench, watching me as I dress.

"Quit staring," I snap finally, unnerved at the way his eyes are focused on every place my finger brushes against bare skin. I am aroused by it, too, but I don't let it show.

"Why? I've already seen you naked, and anyway, you like it."

"I don't even know how this started. It wasn't supposed to." I say, turning the conversation down a different route.

"What, you've got a boyfriend? The one whose name you say all the time?" he jeers. When I don't answer him, he hisses, "Fag."

I glare at him. "You're the only one who's got a problem with that." I state icily. "And if such a big deal that you won't shut up about it, don't even bother with me anymore."

I watch him struggle with himself. I don't bother to hide my satisfied smirk. Deliberately, I let my hands drag along my leg as I pull my jeans on, let my fingers trail across every inch of skin. His breathing quickens, and I press my mouth against his, swiftly, drawing away before he can deepen it. He clutches at my arm but I shake myself free, kiss him on the neck, and refuse to be held down. He half growls, trying to pull me back. I only twist away, shouldering my backpack, and walk out of the room with a cool confidence that makes me think maybe im beginning to become myself again – the self I was before Naruto.

If there's one thing I've learned from him, it's how to keep someone waiting, impatient, wanting. I know that tomorrow, he'll be there again.

I look forward to it.

* * *

There are some fragments of Naruto that I know. They are small pieces of him; pieces I thought could fill the empty spaces in me. But of course, they couldn't. You can't take the pieces from one puzzle and try to complete another with them.

His touch, his laughter. These are only a few of the one hundred and one pieces that he is made of. I will never hold all of them in my hands; he will never give himself over completely.

His weight next to me, his warmth. They don't complete me; they can't.

I don't need them to.

**

* * *

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~fin~

* * *

**Closing A/N**: Did you like my story? It was written in a completely different style from all my other SasuNaru one-shots & stories. Anyways, please **Review** and tell me how you think this turned out!!

**_Review!_**


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